Silver Lining
by Saint-Whatername
Summary: 6 years old Ayana had always wished for a hero, and when she met Tate, finally life was good. But what happens when 16 years old Ayana takes her savior for granted? Will she manage to keep her head above cold water, or will she find herself stumbling blindly down a dark path? I guess you'll just have to see...
1. Have faith in God and He shall provide

My name is Ayana, and I live with dead people.

I was 6 years old when I saw my first ghost, my parents moved us into a beautiful mansion in L.A. I don't think I would be alive today if it wasn't for that house. My parents are well known in the underground community and the black market for their specialty in the art of Hoodoo.

When I was a baby I was given to my parents to settle a debt, I am not a daughter to them, but a trophy, a prize. My father is prone to drinking his home-brewed liquor, my mother has a long spindly pipe between her teeth much of the time, she says the herbs help her work.

I was beaten from an early age, whenever my father fell into one of his many drunken rages. I would try and push my bedroom door closed, but my small weak muscles never held. That all changed though when we moved into The Murder House.

The tragedies that took place within those walls never bothered them. As practitioners of advanced Hoodoo, the veil between death and life was already paper thin. They weren't stupid though, oh no, my parents are a lot of things but they are not stupid. My mother burns a strange concoction of herbs, meat and spiced around the house continuously. Their aroma renders all spirits under a binding, meaning that if one tried to act out against them, they would be weakened. Sort of like a spiked coller on a dog.

Less than a week we'd been there, but my father had already somehow managed to unpack his distillery in one of the many spare rooms, and he had drank more than what I would deem wise.

"A-" He stumbled, caught himself on the banister. "Ayana. Come 'ere!"

I knew he was coming, but I couldn't just sit and wait for the inevitable pain, hope is a fierce thing inside of a child.

I scrambled to my feet from my bed, his slurs growing louder as he swayed down the hall. I slammed my palms again the door and pushed, praying to whatever God was up there, he would send me help, make me big and strong.

The jolt of a much larger body hit my door, and just as I knew the door would be flung from my grasp, his hands pushed along with mine. Such pretty hands, I always thought, the colour of fresh cream. I stared doe eyed up at the boy as we struggled to hold the door shut. I couldn't see his face, but I could see the halo of white blonde hair on his head.

Finally, my father, for the first time ever in my short existence, walked away. He appeared to have lost interest and stumbled into his bedroom, and swiftly passed out on my parent's bed. The boy finally turned to face me; his face scared me at first, the light of my room throwing shadow over his features. But once he bent to one knee, to my eye level, I saw him. He was the most perfect creature my 6 year old eyes had ever seen.

"Hi, I'm Tate. You need to go to bed now Alana." He smiled a fox's grin.

I nodded obediently, my dark curly bouncing around my shoulders. I crawled back under my thin covers and stared up at my savior, Tate. He looked down at me with cold indifference, but his eyes soon softened. He perched on the edge of my bed, petting my hair softly.

"You remind me of my sister. She was a good girl, just like you. 'was Pretty too..."

I felt my eyelids become heavy, my body began to melt away from me as I gave into a deep, pain-free sleep.

My faith in God was renewed that day, I had prayed, and he had provided. I asked for strength, and he had gifted me an angel.


	2. There is a fine line between lovehate

Ayana is 16 years old

Ayana lays across her bed, her dark hair cropped to a bob that framed her warm features. She bit her thin, red lip, her doe-like eyes fixated on the boy above her. Her soft palms glided over his wide, firm chest. Brushing her hands through the boy's thick chestnut hair, Ayana smiled as she brushed lips with her companion.

"Come on Ayana... You'll enjoy it, I promise." The boy above her kissed the tender flesh of her neck.

The gentle smile that had graced her lips faltered, but only briefly. Carefully, Ayana subtly angled her head as to deny access to such a vulnerable place on her small frame.

"Danny, I don't know... I don't think I'm ready yet."

The boy, Danny, stilled, the veins in his temple bubbling under his skin, his jaw clenched tight. Ayana, recognizing her mistake, stretched a smile across her mouth and attempted a nervous giggle in order to ease tensions.

"Hey, don't worry, there's plenty other things we can do! We can make-out, we can go for walks, we can-"

"I don't want to go for walks, Ayana... Baby, you know I love you, and I do so much for you... Don't I hun? It upsets me that you won't give me this one little thing, just because it makes you uncomfortable." Danny's piercing blue eyes pierced Ayana's own set of grey. Ashamed, Ayana broke eye contact, she guessed it really wasn't very fair on Danny... Yet she dared to shake her head.

Ayana opened her mouth to apologise, when harsh, unforgiving lips crashed against her own, bruising her gasping lips. Ayana cried out into the boy's mouth, his thick arms hold her waist against his, pressing their bodies together. In a panic, Ayana bit down on her boyfriend's tongue, a growl like a feral animal escaped his throat as blood trickled over his quivering lips.

Pushing her down into the mattress, Danny's heavy fist collided with Ayana's cheekbone. As her head swam and her muscles weakened, the predator like boy hooked his finger into the waist band of her pants, and made to rip them appart.

"Hey!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A pale skinned teenager sat in out in a hallway, his back pressed against the wall, his legs sprawled out in front of himself. His fists rested clenched on his thighs, the soft sighs and sounds of lips parting trickling through the door beside him.

He squeezed his eyes together, tilting his face down, trying to subdue the rising liquid fury in his veins.

"I don't like him either, but you can't just sit around and wait for something to happen, Tate."

Opening his dark brown eyes, Tate glared at the middle aged women who stood above him. Without replying, Tate tilted his head back down again. He knew Vivien was right, but that didn't mean he had to listen, she wasn't his mother and even if she was he wouldn't care. Vivien had always been like a mother to Ayana, God knows her own mother was as useful as a bag of shit.

After a few more seconds of silence, Tate sighed in surrender and began to stand, figuring if Vivien was planning on shadowing that doorway he best vacate it. He had only just began to turn when the sound of bed sheets rustling and muffled cry of alarm broke the heavy silence. As the two froze in shock, heavy sobbing could be heard through the door.

Both Vivian and Tate's eyes snapped to the door, then to each other. As though a silent temporary truce had been made, Vivien flung the door open. Before them they saw Ayana's jwaste of space boyfriend kneeling between the girl's legs, his knees pinning her thighs apart. The dark haired girl's hands were firmly glued to her face as violent sobs escaped her lips. Tate and Vivien's blood ran cold as they took in the dazed, hazy look on the 16 year old's face's bruised face.

Simultaneously, the two intruder's eyes fell upon the monster's hands, that clutched the fabric of her now torn cream pants.

"Hey!" Vivien yelped, "What the hell do you think you're doing!" Danny's eyes widened in surprise.

"Shit, Ayana you said your mom was away for the weekend? And who's this ass-" Tate's supernatural strength flung Danny from the bed, causing the jock to land on his back against the far wall. Tate made to attack towards the boy, when Vivien suddenly grabbed his arm.

"No, you stay with her Tate. I'll deal with him."

Tate glanced back to the mortal boy, who now was pulling himself to his feet and towards the door. The fair haired spirit rushed to the bedside, Ayana's small shaking frame now curled into herself on her side. Tate reached out his slender hand, gently stroking the girl's hair; Leaning in, he whispered comforts to the girl.

The sound of a slamming door reverberated through the aging mansion. "Don't even think about setting eyes on our girl again, you hear?!" Vivien barked at the retreating boy. Ayana's eyes snapped open as she leaped from her bed and sprinted down the stairs and out her front door.

"Danny! Danny please I-I'm sorry, please we can fix this!" Finally catching upto the limping teen, Ayana clutched at his clothes, begging him to stay. Filled with indignation at his easy defeat, the boy snarled.

"Get off of me you, you freak!" Danny flung her away, her body falling and causing her skull to bounce off the ground before her hands could respond.

Ayana lay there, listening to the sound of Danny walking away from here, slamming the gate behind him and peeling away in his truck. Sobbing Ayana stood, trembling as she ran back inside of her home.

Tate's long arms wrapped her in a tight embrace as she entered. "I'm so sorry, Aya, that guy was a real douche-"

Ayana suddenly shrieked hysterically, violently breaking away from Tate's arms. Breathing heavily, she pointed her slim index finger into his face, Tate frozen in shock.

"You! It's always you! You just don't want me to be happy so you drive all the men I meet away! This. Is. Your. Fault, Tate." She yelled, her finger jabbing at his chest to emphasize her fury.

"I-I... I was protecting you, Goddamnit!" Ayana's hard gaze held strong.

Without a word, the girl turned away from the immortal teen, slowly she made her way to the kitchen. She paused in the doorway.

"Go away Tate."

Tate vanished from the hall.


	3. Look into the face of evil

Ayana is 6 years old.

Early one morning, 1 week after Ayana's first meeting with Tate, the young brunette is crouched in the grass of her backyard. In on hand she tenderly prods at her swelling cheek bone, the other hand clutches a large rock, wth which any wandering ants met a sudden swift end.

Unbeknownst to the girl, an 11 year old Michael Langdon approaches from behind. His hungry eyes cold and calculating.

Constance Langdon watches on from her kitchen window, overlooking the conjoined yards. A hopeful smile dares to to pull at her ruby red lips. However, any hopes of friendship she had for her grandson are dashed, when the golden sunlight that bathes her lawn glitters wickedly off the blade, clutched behind Michael's back.

For a second Constance feels inclined to stop the boy, but the thought is fleeting. Shrugging, Constance turns away from the pair, and in swiping up a golden compact, inspects her admittedly aging sculpted features.

"Y'know, you shouldn't leave your back so open. 'Makes you easy prey."

Michael smirked, his perfectly curved blonde locks falling over his eyes. Slowly, Michael draws the long blade from behind his back, waiting in anticipation for the girl to turn.

However, instead of turning in shock, with the delicious with the delicious face of fear young Michael craves, Ayana merely sighs, her chestnut curls slipping off her thin shoulders.

"I wouldn't mind. When I'm dead, 'he' won't find me ever when I hide.."

Michael's sickening grin dropped, his hungry gaze fading into... Amusement. The adolescent chuckled.

"Stand up."

Slowly, wincing in pain, Ayana stands. Michael's perfectly shaped eyebrows raise at the girl's submission, her back still left vulnerable and facing towards his blade.

"Turn to face me."

Silently, the eleven year old starred down at the young child's swollen features; Michael's smug smile falls to a hard line.

There is no sport in hunting already lame game.

In one flick, Michael flips the knife in his hand, the handle now facing towards Ayana's beaten body. In a small voice, she whispers,

"But I'm not mad at you."

Michael smiles, his deep saphire eyes meeting Ayana's steely blues.

"Pretend."

Quicker than a blink, Ayana's small chubby hands swipe up the knife, a grunt of effort escapes her cracked lips. With all her strength, Ayana lunges forward, her entire weight behind the stab aimed at Michael's abdomen.

Michael sidesteps the lunge, grabs hold of her thin wrists and twists, disarming her and sending the knife clattering to the ground.

The screen door slams open on the Langdon residence, announcing Constance's frantic steps onto her back porch. Her eyes wide with fear for her grandson's life.

She suddenly stops in her tracks, Michael's gaze now barring into her own. Slowly with hesitation, Mrs Langdon retreats into her home.

Ayana pants, her eyes still locked on the strangely familiar boy who now holds her close, yet she feels no comfort. Smiling, Michael released her from his grip, scoops up the blade and presses the handle back into her hands.

"You're fast, that's good. Instead of trying to use your brute strength, rely on your speed. And don't aim for the fatality blow straight away, play with your prey first... Try again."

And so the odd pattern continued. Ayana would stab with near misses, Michael would disarm and critique her. Until finally, Michael grunted in pain.

"Hng... Good job. You're fast like a bird, and a quick learner... I like that."

The pale boy inspected the small cut in his forearm, a thick bead of crimson blood staining his sleeve.

Ayana, as though finally waking from a dream-like state, covered her face with her palms, one still clutching the blade, and began to softly cry.

The 11 year old sighed, rolling his cat-like eyes at the girl's blubbering. Carefully, the boy removed the weapon from her weak grasp, and with much effort, pantomimed affection for the child. Wrapping his arms stiffly around her small stature, he sighed, disappointed.

"Never cry in front of your enemy, it shows them weakness. They'll use that against you."

Without warning, Michael gathered up Ayana's long curls in his left hand, and in one cut sliced them off. The remaining waves fell to frame the 6 year old's shocked features.

"You should keep you hair short too, there's less for 'him' to grab hold of."

As silently as he had appeared, the boy released the girl and vanished back into the Langdon residence, her curls still clutched in his palm. Once inside, he inhaled deeply against the locks, the stench of fear still tainting them. He smiled.

Fiercely rubbing her shiny eyes, Ayana too slowly retreated back into her new home.


	4. Bad company

On re-entering the household, female hands cupped Ayana's tear-stained face.

"Did he hurt you, hun? What did he say to you, did he threaten you at all?!"

Ayana's grey eyes widened, staring in confusion and child-like fear at the stranger who's soft palms fussed about her hair. Quick as a blink, tears sprang to the child's eyes.

"Stop mom! You're scaring her..."

A girl appeared besides the woman, her kind smile eased the small girl's already gushing tears. The woman, who towered over Ayana, pursed her lips, re-evaluating her approach. Lowering herself from a concerned crouch to a friendly, open crossed leg position. A calm, gentle smile graced the woman's attractive features.

"I... I'm sorry if I scared you, Ayana. My name is Vivien, and this is my daughter Violet."

After a couple seconds of hesitation, the young girl smiled. One hand gave a small hand, before tangling itself in her freshly cut hair.

"Are you Tate's friends? Tate said not to be scared of most of the ghosts here, because most of them are his friends."

Vivien fought against the scowl that tugged at her brow; calmly, Violet walked from the room, her shoulder's quivering in repressed anger.

"S-sure , honey. Something like that."

Without hesitation, Ayana giggled and wrapped her short arms around the woman. After a short second of shock, returned the warm embrace.

A cold voice broke the thick silence,

"What happened to your hair?"

Vivien stiffened at the boy's dangerous tone. Hesitantly, Vivien rose to standing, an oblivious Ayana ran to embrace Tate's bony knees.

"Tate! The nice boy next door did it, he said long hair is easier to grab! He showed me how to stab and to be fast and not to leave myself open-"

Vivien watched with clenched fists as Tate knelt down infront of the girl, where he placed a single finger over the child's flapping lips, silencing her.

"Ayana, listen to me. Michael, the boy next door? He is not nice. He may do or say nice things but that doesn't change the fact he is not a nice boy, okay? You cannot trust him."  
>Ayana stared into the elder boy's eyes, before she gave an enthusiastic nod of her head. Smiling warmly, Tate scooped the small giggling child up into his arms, cooing her as he carried her further into the house. Vivien frowned as she watched the pair, Violet stepped besides her. Quietly, Vivien whispers,<p>

"...Do you think she's safe with him?"

Violet sighed, her brows furrowed with doubt.

" No, not really. But it seems, for now, she's safe... Keep an eye on her, mom."

The two vanished from the kitchen.


	5. Never smile at a crocodile

No matter how much young Ayana had taken Tate's words to heart, Mrs Langdon knew better than to over-look her grand son's fondness for the neighbor's daughter.

A short while after Michael and Ayana's initial meeting, Constance approached the girl outside of her home. Here she could easily coerce the girl into her home without any meddling spirits stepping in to prove a nuisance.

Ayana was quickly swept up in Constance's manipulative words, the child felt comforted by the some how familiar curve to her smile.

"My my, dear! What slender fingers you have! I bet you must be an absolute Beethoven on the old ivory keys! Piano is such a beautiful instrument for a young girl."

Ayana sat clutching a cup of orange juice at Constance's dining table. Blushing from the compliment young Ayana stared down her chubby hands, shaking her head shyly.

"We have a piano but, I never learned how to play...-"

Mrs Langdon gasped, putting on a show of mock horror. Scoffing, Constance threw back her head, flashing a bright, toothy grin. She reminded Ayana of a crocodile in a song she'd heard.

"Well that simply won't do! So it's decided, you shall come over to our house every Monday night, where I will personally tutor you."

Confusion tugging at her brow, Ayana opened her pouting lips to politely decline, when Constance quickly cut her short.

"Oh would you look at the time? Looks to me like your father will be home soon, better hurry on home dear before he begins to worry..."

And before Ayana knew what was happening, she was bundled out the door. After pausing to grasp her bearings, Ayana burst into a reckless sprint back home. If her parents were to know of her outings she knew for sure she'd never be allowed out again.

On entering the house, the little girl glanced up towards the clock above the entrance way, however on seeing that her father would be returning _very_ soon, ran as fast as her short legs could carry her. Ayana clattered up the wide oak staircase, along the hall and into her bedroom. As she gasped for air, she turned to see him, her guardian angel leaning in the doorway.

Smiling fondly, Tate carefully closed the door, where he then wordlessly sat with his back resting against. Already the two had fallen into this pattern; each night Tate would guard her doorway, and each night Ayana slept blissfully unaware of her drunkard of a father.

As Ayana busied herself tugging off her thread-bare dress to change for bed, Tate closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the door, providing a small amount of modesty to the child who had yet to understand such concepts.

The fair haired boy jolted in suprise, however, when a small body crawled into his lap. On opening his eyes a small, warn out blanket was clumsily wrapped around his shoulders.

"You'll get cold and it's scary without a blanky, so, just for now you can use mine, okay?"

As Tate watched the strange young girl crawl under her sheets, the spirit felt an emotion stirring in his chest, one he hadn't felt since... Since a long time ago. Ayana's soft snores filled the room as she drifted off to sleep.

Tate chuckled to himself as he inspected the small scrap of material. How strange, he thought, he would have grown attached to this odd little girl with eyes like his sisters and her blankets for unfeeling ghosts.

His gentle smile fell into a hard line when the stumbling footsteps of Ayana's father. As Tate leaned his mass against the door, he silently cursed the spell her mother cast to weaken him. A sudden burst of rage bubbled under his skin as the man continued to kick and punch the door. Silently, Tate promised the girl in the rickety bed in front of him, that no on, living or dead, will be allowed to hurt her ever again. The wooden door cracked at Tate's inhuman strength. Ayana smiled unaware in her dreams.

_Never smile as a crocodile..._


End file.
